


Knightly Wanderings

by Lori_S21



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Spideypool - Freeform, Wade talks to his boxes and is beautifully insane, feelings and naughty times, mild dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lori_S21/pseuds/Lori_S21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade Wilson is a man of integrity. A man of strength, wisdom and honour. He immediately breaks into Spider-Man's apartment to warn him of a new menace  that is currently terrorising New York City...</p><p>/Yeah...a menace in his PANTS./</p><p>[Yep, we're totally messing with you. He invites himself into a sleeping Spidey's bed for purely heroic reasons of course... Does some stuff, ends up with a concussion - it's some real good times]</p><p>  <em>Well what else would you expect, you kinky weirdos?!</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The boxes are arguing again.

[If we do this, Spider-Man may very well web-shoot us to his ceiling like last time.] Yellow Box gently chided, an edge of exasperation seeping into Deadpool’s thoughts.

/Promises, promises/ leered White Box, /That’s practically foreplay and the big guy knows it./

“How’d you manage to turn _that_ into something dirty?” Deadpool wondered admiringly, grinning in approval and anticipation.

/Well, I _am_ you./

“Good point.” He muttered, feeling immensely proud of himself.

And why shouldn’t he be proud? He’d just scaled frickin' Spider-Man’s swanky new apartment building under ice cold conditions through battering gale-force winds without even dying once, may he add. Or being apprehended by some overprotective Avenger. He was like some kind of sexy, gun-toting Romeo on a mission. Or like that douchebag, loser vampire who sparkled and stared a lot, or something less lame and more totally fucking awesome. And horny. And really, if Spidey didn’t want him to barge into his bedroom at night, he could at least make it harder. Like shut the window. Okay, lock it. Alright, lock it _better_. Fine! Deadpool was breaking and entering. But he did it so _well_.

It’s not as if his intentions aren’t completely honourable. There’s this new monster-thingy on the news that Spidey definitely should check out. It’s 100% real and not at all based around some questionable found footage discovered online that sort of looks like someone’s taped a cat to the back of a big dog, then used forced perspective to make it look ginormous. Who’d be that desperate to get Spidey’s attention?!

/Is the big guy even fooling you dumbasses?/

[We are deeply ashamed…]

“Shush!” _And I can literally feel myself growing a vagina by even thinking this, but why can’t you be more supportive of my dating life choices?_ He internal monologued whilst crawling in through Spidey’s window like a nimble, pervy ninja.

[This isn’t a date, this is _stalking_ …]

/This is madness…/ White box set up.

“This is Sparta!” It wasn’t nearly as satisfying whispering it, but the sight of a sleeping Peter Parker more than made up for it.

[Oh we’re gonna be on the news] moaned yellow box with sad inevitability, whilst white box seemed to be muttering something about ‘ass, ass, grab the booty, ass…’

Deadpool clasped his hands together, cocked his head to one side and practically curtseyed at the adorable sight before him. Gently curled round on his side, a shirtless, bed-headed Spidey, all snuggled into his pillow, covers puddled messily around him, just waiting for a big, strong merc of a man to-

[No! Stick to the plan boss…The terrible, terrible plan.]

Deadpool let out a dreamy sigh, like a dazed schoolgirl. He rubbed his hands together in a slightly unnerving fashion, practically giddy with excitement. _Should of worn my best dress over the top of lucky red_ …

“Fuck the plan,” He murmured, before padding over to the bed.

And quietly slipping under the covers.

[Abort! Abort!]

/Ass, ass, grab that booty, ass…/

Hell, he was cold. Peter, and his bed wasn’t. It had been a long, chilly climb. Spidey was his reward, his Everest peak if you will. _Now climb that mountain!_

The merc formally known as Wade lovingly took off his weapons and placed them gently on the floor. The katanas, his beloved boys, the big guns. Waking up next to a red spandex-y leather wearing creep would be alarming enough but at least he wouldn’t be an armed red spandex-y leather wearing creep. 

He slipped in slowly, so as not to wake the boy up. He slid closer to lie on his side next to Peter, not even touching, mirroring his position and relishing the heat of his body. Peter’s steady breath didn’t even hitch as Deadpool - Wade Wilson, Soppy Romantic Extraordinaire – shuffled ever closer.

Peter was just so damn cute. Wade felt like a preening teenager. Such a young face, unlined – so unlike what lurked behind his own mask. Dark hair stuck up like a halo, and his lashes were so long. _Damn he’s so pretty I could cry_. Peter wore a little frown of concentration like a grumpy kitten, even in his sleep, still looking responsible. Incredible his narrow shoulders never crumpled under the weight. Full lips a perfect pucker with every exhale that made Wade picture doing all kinds of filthy things with. And to. 

He was beautiful in a geeky - and okay, _hot_ \- kind of way. And then there was the knowledge that although he looked like an edible love muffin, there was all that strength and raw power hidden within that wiry frame. Peter could pin Wade down no problem if he’d let him (and boy would Wade let him). Plus he was quite the little boffin, with his special made web shooters and running his own business and the like (got rich without killing people and all – imagine!).

He was just so intrinsically good. Good people were usually so boring to Wade, but not Peter. He was endlessly fascinating, hard to understand how he always uses those powers to do the right thing all the damn time. That strong core of morals and kindness, mixed with an occasionally filthy sense of humour. He just needed someone like Deadpool to bring out the naughty side of him more. He’d seen it in his smile. In the way Peter can’t resist sparring with him. It was irresistible. Wade was drawn to him, admired him, wanted him. They filled each other out (dirty puns intended, at least on Wade’s part). Peter resisted, but Wade was sure he could wear him down eventually. He’d grow on him, like a sexy fungus and they would at least be friends. Super best friends. Super best friends with benefits… Peter could help him get better, _be_ better.

Wade wanted to touch, but that would be bad. And Wade knew he was bad, but not _bad_ -bad, you know? He has his limits, and also didn’t fancy having to regrow his hands once Spidey woke up and got stabby with him. He’d be mad enough just seeing his new bunk mate…

The merc knew he had to wake him. Some freaky creature was rampaging down town. They could go investigate together, like Mulder and Scully with all the Unresolved Sexual Tension ( _yes, I’m on to of all your dirty little fanfic labels you unclean things you!_ ). Of course, he’d rather stay snuggled up to said love muffin, but hey, you can’t have it all. So with a heavy heart, Wade ever so carefully placed a gloved hand on Peter’s shoulder, tapped him three times, slowly, gently.

“Baby boy…Time to wake up,” He cooed, sounding more relaxed than he actually felt, anticipating a foot to the face and not in a nice, wholesome foot fetish kind of way either. “Wake up little Spider. Work to do. Could be a new monster, could be a wacky pet store hybrid – who knows? But we’re excited!”

Admittedly, he didn’t speak very loudly, or try too hard to rouse his Spider pal. And thus was instantly rewarded by the unprecedented sleepy mumblings of Peter Parker as he nestled closer, wrapped his arms around Wade’s firm middle, and pressed flush against him.

“No…” Peter murmured, winding in closer.

“Uhh…” The hesitant noise slipped from Wade’s mouth unsolicited.

[As does everything else]

/SPIDER BOOTY!/

Luckily, or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, Peter didn’t wake up.

“Oh jumping Jesus on a jackrabbit,” Wade blurted out as the young, warm, nubile Spidey nestled closer. All that smooth bare skin and warmth and hot breath travelling down his chest. Pelvises making contact and YES! That is his penis thank you! Half mast at least, giving him the salute of champions.

“Fucksake!” Cursed Wade though it strangely sounded like approval as well. He let out a strangled groan as Peter’s hair tickled at the seam of his mask, his wonderful, warm soapy smell simply _mouth-watering_.

“If this is a test, I fear I may fail!” Wade cried dramatically, and really, what had he done to warrant such sweet, sweet torment? Okay, he climbed into a good friend’s bed uninvited, but still. He could see no way out of this that didn’t end with him being kicked in the face whilst suffering from a serious case of blue balls. Better to subtly enjoy it now and deeply repent later.

/There could be spanking. Punish us Master Parker rawr! /

Wade moaned, held his hands – and angled his crotch - awkwardly away from Peter as his conscience bravely, and valiantly battled against his roaring id, clawing his way towards rationality and reason, his natural enemies. The boxes gibbered away madly, practically lost in a blur of _wantwantwant…_

And Peter’s face was pressed into his neck and sighing…A breath that travelled all the way down his body, blood following, pooling south.

_Oh shit, I am a bad man, a bad man…_

“Spidey…might not wanna DO THAT!” He coughed out as Peter’s hips found his own, rocking subtly against him in an increasingly familiar rhythm (though not familiar with this particular fellow…at least not in reality anyway).

His hands ran down Wade’s back, gripping, pulling him closer as Wade tried – admittedly not very hard – to pull back a little. Peter snuggled in, sighing happily, the final attack on Wade’s senses. Who knew that holding Peter Parker could feel so natural? That he’d feel so right, even if the situation is so, so wrong.

“Sweetie, you do _not_ want to be doing this…” He gasped out, allowing himself a small act of weakness as he buried his face in Peter’s mad hair. When else would he get the experience? He smelt like coconuts. Who knew?

He resolved to pull away, not wanting any part of a dub con fantasy. Well, maybe a little. Once Peter’s hands found his butt, of course, resolve left with a frantically packed suitcase labelled ‘See Ya!’ cackling manically all the while.

He gripped rather forcefully, Wade could argue in a court of law that he couldn’t possibly break free, Peter was lying on one of his arms. That barely-tempered hero strength being put to good use – finally! Wade would clap his hands with glee, if he weren’t so scared of waking his delightfully handsy friend. Peter pulled him closer, groping, kneading, hard enough to bruise as he lined their hips together, grinding sinuously in his sleep, moaning in Wade’s ear. He seemed intent on rutting against Wade like an animal in heat. It was..well, ridiculously hot, and took all of Wade's willpower not to shamelessly return the gesture.

“Aw fuck. Have all my dreams come true?” Panted Wade, allowing himself this, this one moment. He groaned into Peter’s hair, battled not to rock back, though it seemed he already _had_ and twice as hard, saliva pooled in his mouth. “Is ScarJo gonna burst in with a tub of jelly too?” He talked to distract himself, to stay in control as he carefully shucked off one glove so he could place his hand on the smooth surface of Peter’s shifting hip. He brushed the side of his hand against it, barely tracing the curve of that glorious, unfairly tempting ass of his dreams.

So unfair.

“Okay…This is where we wake up.” He mumbled regretfully, wanting nothing more than to furiously grind back and maybe shove his hands down Peter’s pants. He could worship that butt. Write volumes of epic poetry in honour of its peachy, firm roundness, so perfect in spandex. If he could marry a butt…

He let his hand slip a little, grazing Peter’s rump, gripping his fingers into the soft roundness, smooth, perfect and full. _Goddamn._ Peter moaned approvingly, a sound that shot straight down to Wade's cock. Wade had to bite his lip to not lose control. Okay, so he didn’t have the willpower of a freaking saint. It was so damn _hot_ , Peter was practically panting, making his neck damp through the suit. He could feel his wet, gorgeous mouth against his throat, his cock pressing insistently against his own. His head was spinning with bad decisions and all the nasty, wonderful things he could do to Peter if he’d just-

“Wake up!” It came out strangled, mournful and most importantly, _loud._

/Holy fuck he is waking up and all!!!/

[Prepare to die. Again.]

First of all, the hips froze. Then the deadlock around his waist loosened. Then that sleepy, pliant body suddenly stiffened against him, as though a current had ran through it. Wade removed his hands, held them both away in surrender. Offered an uneasy smile from underneath the mask as that mop of a head moved back to peer up at him.

The doe eyes opened as reality sunk in.

“Eep. Hey Spidey.”

“W-what?” Peter’s voice was logged with sleep. “W-Wade? What? I mean, what were we, was I just doing?” Alas, there was the magical moment between sleep and wakefulness, where Peter’s muddled mind seemed completely at ease with just going along with the programme. Something incredibly /pathetically/ hopeful bloomed in Wade’s chest as those rich brown eyes searched his confusingly, scanning his mask, his face hovered closer, lips seemingly searching for his, his hips pressed forwards one last glorious time.

“What Petey? What?” Wade murmured softly, even pushing his mask up a little, just in case. He gently held Peter in his arms once more, and he made no move to get away, limbs still wrapped loosely around the mercenary, warm, sleepy and pliant.

Then reality hit. The confusion faded as awareness returned, the hips moved away.

“Wade…Please tell me what you think are doing.” The voice was frighteningly calm, and filled with a clarity that wasn’t there before. He withdrew, gradually, reminding Wade forcefully of a cobra drawing back to strike. Ah nuts.

“Uh…Snuggling?” Wade answered hopefully.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

Peter threw the covers off before pushing Wade off the bed as hard as he could. 

“Oof!” Wade grunted, the wind knocked out of him, sprawling awkwardly on the floor. “You know, I wouldn’t throw stones babe. You were the one who got all gropey!”

Peter crouched on all fours on the bed, like a furious tiger. “Did you touch my ass?” 

“Alright guilty as charged - OW!” That alarm clock to the head really hurt.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Peter shouted, wrapping the sheet once more around his underwear flaunting self, as if to preserve his dignity.

“So you had a night time stiffy - big whoop! Even heroes need love too, little Peter is no exception!”

“WADE! WHAT THE FUCK?” He managed to dodge the lamp. And the boot, hopping round the room, chuckling gleefully.

“Okay! Sorry, I’m sorry! _Big_ Peter,” he winked, forgetting the second boot as it hit home and definitely left him with a concussion.

_Score!_

[We had that coming.]

“I am sorry." He graciously added, still smiling under the mask though so it didn't count.

/No you're not./

"No you're not." Growled Peter.

"I'm really not," Wade conceded cheerfully. "To be fair, I only got in your bed to wake you up gently and considerately.” He protested mournfully, unconvincingly.

“Yeah I’m so sure. You’re a real gentlemen you piece of-“ Peter may have muttered some swears then but Wade couldn’t quite hear as he was dying from the adorableness of it all. Peter was bright red to his roots, still hiding his crotch. Wade would offer to help him out if he wasn’t certain such a proposition would end in his own cold blooded murder. And he wouldn’t stay dead for long. Peter would get to kill him again.

“Anyway, when you’re done stuffing your dignity and sexuality back into the closet, we’ve got work to do, oh precious Ennis to my Jack.”

If Peter got the _Brokeback_ reference he sure didn’t let it show.

“You’re no fun,” Pouted Deadpool, shoving his mask back down fully, before folding his arms and leaning against the window for support, far away from the fuming young man who was currently trying to fry his brain with a look alone.

“Think you’ve had too much fun.” Muttered Peter crossly, "You can't just!" He burst out, sighing frustratedly before gathering his Spider-Man suit off the floor, so it wasn’t all bad. And he still had the sheet clutched around his hips. 

A mischievous smile spread beneath Wade’s mask as Peter sadly sloped off towards the bathroom, shoulders sagging, ass perfect as ever. Peter may be swimming deep in de-river-nial, but Deadpool, the one and only Wade Winston Wilson, gave Spider-Man a stiffy. Aint no one taking that achievement away from him anytime soon.

And there was always the rest of the night to Mulder and Scully it out of course…

[/ _Excellent._ ]/ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry the boxes were so rude to you. Hope you liked. Reviews deserve cookies. And second chapters.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Uh yeah. So this is pornography...**

"Okay, so I know your boot hit us pretty damn hard before…Nice right swing by the way, kiddo. Kudos to you!” Deadpool grinned, crouching next to Spider-Man upon the apartment building roof. “And honestly, if the whole superhero thing don’t work out, you’d make one hell of a pitcher. In fact, why don’t you go get a pair of those little white shorts anyway? Try ‘em on, just in case. I insist…Really. There could be photos…” Deadpool rambled. 

“Was there a point you were trying to make with that gateway to hell you call a mouth?” Spider-Man deadpanned, with the slightest hint of impatience as he studied the scene below them.

“Oh right! Thanks. Sometimes it runs away from me doesn’t it?” Deadpool practically beamed. “I just wanted to check, do you see a giant, well dressed wolf-man rampaging around downtown too?”

Spider-Man raised his hands in exasperation, shaking his head as he gestured at the twelve foot tall, whorey old wolf-man that was currently cantering around the streets of New York. He was wearing a suit and raining down a storm of bullets from the machine gun he was currently going to town with. “Uh yes!” Spider-Man replied acidly, as though Deadpool were losing his mind. Again. He checked his web cartridges, restless, preparing to launch off the building.

“Good boy! That’s the right answer, hurray for not hallucinating.” Deadpool unsheathed his katanas. “Let’s go put this puppy down.”

“Hang on!” Spider-Man was suddenly all up in his personal space then, hands on Deadpool’s broad shoulders, gripping muscle, holding him back. So close he could see the dark eye patches of his mask reflected in Spidey’s eye visors. 

[Sure we’re not hallucinating?]

“We need to at least try to incapacitate, not kill,” Spider-Man emphasised, “No killing. Please? Civilians are the priority. Get them out!” He ordered, before removing his hands from Deadpool as though he were red hot -

/We ARE hot!/

\- and making an awkward throat clearing noise.

The ‘gateway to hell’ was about to unleash some sort of smart-ass comment, until the sound of the creature laying waste to another building told them the time for talking was over. It howled, people screamed, the damn roof even shook from the rattle of gunfire.

“Okay, I promise!” Deadpool shouted, fingers crossed behind his back.

_Showtime._

“Spidey-Piggy back? Come on! I could do with a lift down there. Could even sing the song from that bland Simpsons Movie, I’d be living the dream!”

With a look that somehow managed to be withering even underneath the layers of mask, Spider-Man gracefully launched himself off the side of the building, leaving Deadpool in the dust.

“Okay, that’s cool. I’ll just walk then.”

________________________

“I don’t normally-”

“I know,” Wade interrupted urgently before slamming Peter into the wall. He pressed his whole body against him hard, grabbing his hips to get even closer as he dove in for another kiss.

It was rough, determined, open mouthed and oh so satisfying because Peter was giving it back, just as hard. He was doing things with his tongue no good boys should know how to do, let alone a poster boy for heroic deeds such as himself and it was driving Wade crazy. Well, crazier than usual. Peter’s hands locked behind his neck digging in, gloves lost somewhere along the way. He ground his hips greedily against Wade’s, sucked on his bottom lip and groaned into his mouth.

[ _Finally!_ There is a God!] Sighed yellow box.

/ _Spider booty…_ / White box practically wept with relief.

Peter managed to break away, lips wet, hair dishevelled, gasping for breath. “We really shouldn’t be doing this!”

“No, I think we really, _really_ should.” Wade growled back, punctuating each ‘really’ with a lingering kiss to Peter’s neck.

“Wade,” Peter whined slightly. He used teeth then, experimentally scraping against the damp skin of Peter’s throat. He could _devour_ him, he really could. He sucked hard against a sensitive tendon, making Peter shiver and moan against him causing Wade to grin triumphantly against his rapid pulse. He laved at the tender spot with his tongue, tasting, soothing.

“Less thinking, more kissing, kissing is good, kissing is nice, right?” He murmured into Peter’s ear.

“Ugh shut up!”

“That’s more like it!” Wade grinned, finally reaching round for the ass. Peter must be okay with it. Little, no _big_ Peter, sorry - was showing an avid interest in the proceedings at least and his Peter was practically clinging to him, chest to chest, panting against him…wanting him? He could feel Peter’s heart racing through the thin material of his suit. Or was that his own? He felt so _alive…_

Wade finally got his hands on the butt of dreams [least he’s awake this time!], full and supple, encased in spandex. God, he was jealous of that spandex. It was a struggle not to squeal with delight, or bite him on the ass, it really was.

“Please don’t do that,” Peter groaned.

“Oops! Didn’t mean to say that out loud,” He grinned sheepishly, settling for a long, satisfying squeeze before lifting Peter off the ground with ease, so he could wrap his legs around his waist. To his delight, Peter complied instantly.

He settled right between Peter’s thighs, pressed together as tightly as his dirtiest dreams would ever allow. Rock hard, he could feel Peter’s matching arousal through the spandex. Every inch and damn if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever felt… Hands still on that ass, sinking in, kneading, massaging whilst pulling the cheeks apart, He tried to keep breathing steadily with the image that conjured up. He used his strength to repeatedly pull Peter’s hips flush against his own, slow but hard, press and release, thin costumes making it feel almost too much. They both groaned loudly.

Forehead to forehead, just breathing heavily. He’d never been this close to the hero whilst unmasked before. He felt naked already. Peter’s brown eyes were hazy with lust, taking in the sight Wade too. He had a small cut running through his lower lip, already healing up from the fight earlier. It made Wade want to kill Wolf Man all over again. Wade traced it with his thumb, then briefly, his tongue, causing Peter to sigh shakily. They mouthed at each other, exchanging breaths, before pulling away slightly to look some more. Peter was sweating, fringe damp, pupils huge. He looked fucking _edible_.

[We did that.]

/Just fuck him already!/

“I’m trying!” Wade moaned, closing his eyes and leaning heavily on Peter, nuzzling his face, his neck. It was too much. He didn’t want to think about what Peter was seeing. The scars, the bruises, the most likely manic look in his eyes. He stopped dragging Peter’s body against his, lest there be a sudden lull in the proceedings, which wouldn’t be too embarrassing or anything…

“Wade?” Peter murmured, placing his soft hands against the scar tissue of Wade’s cheek. "Still with me?"

[I think we’re in love…]

/Take his pants _off_. Off! Off! Off!/

Peter ran his hands over Wade’s bare head almost tenderly, before pulling him back for another kiss, slower this time, more tongue. Lovely.

“If this is a hallucination, I don’t wanna wake up. Can’t be real,” Wade muttered between kisses, sounding almost sad. He was finding it hard to believe that Peter, his idol, could ever want him back, even if the evidence was literally overwhelming him. Didn’t he remember what he, what Deadpool, was? A killer, dangerous, unstable, blablablah. He’d gotten used to it, Peter never would. He was pure. Some days Wade thinks the blood’ll never wash off. He shakes his head, presses into Peter, as close as he can get.

“I keep thinking the same thing, believe me,” Peter snorted, and it was this, the trademark snark that make Wade realise this was truly happening, whether he deserved it or not. And he was going to go with white box’s advice, before Peter came to his senses.

It was real. It was. He ran through the events leading up to this wonderful, blessed and hot as hell moment in life.

/Bow chicka wow wow…/

[Cue flashback!]

__________________________

Legging it down a fire escape may not have been as cool, or suave as gracefully web-slinging your way into a fight like an arachnid version of the cirque du solei, but damn it, it was honest.

_Gotta keep those sexy runners legs in good shape…_

Unfortunately, what it did mean was he arrived at the Wolf-Man’s scene of carnage minutes after Spider-Man, even after jumping half the way down like a crazed toddler dizzy on lemonade. He was quite impressed to see Spider-Man circling around the hairy brute, avoiding the shower of bullets directed at him, drawing fire away from the startled New Yorkers.

The street was all torn up, restaurant windows smashed in. Customers crouched in terror. Street lamps shattered, cars transformed into twisted bits of metal. Spent bullet casings everywhere. One man lay dead, sprawled out in the street, body riddled and torn up with bullet holes, broken. _Should have woken Spidey sooner…_

/Meh. Not like we knew the guy…/

It was a one man/dog on a crush kill destroy mission. Pure, mindless vandalism. Deadpool sighed, looked like fun. _Except the mindless killing of course. So pointless if you’re not getting paid._ Wolf Man was one ugly son of a bitch. _Hehe! He LITERALLY is. Geddit? Get it?!_

[Focus!]

/Throw him a dog treat and give him a belly rub!/

_Who? Spidey or the wolf?_

Said wolf – for lack of a better word - was fucking massive. Standing on hind legs, thick tufts of black fur sprouted patchily across his face, neck and hands. He stooped as he ran, like the wolf men of cheesy eighties movies. There were fangs, enormous fangs, and a reek of spoiled meat that hit Deadpool in waves. Nice. He was however, a snappy dresser in his sharp black suit, Deadpool had to give him that. He’d always had a soft spot for the ugly ones, an affinity if you will.

“Hey Spidey! Real or not real?” He called out. The wolf stopped shooting, turned to face Deadpool.

“Real you idiot! Me and Cujo are getting along just famously aren’t we boy?” Spider-Man responded before speedily crawling up a wall. _Gosh, my boy’s fast._

“Yeah, and we all know how that one ended!” Deadpool impersonated canine growling, abruptly ending with him mining a shot gun motion. “Chik-chik, BOOM!”

Real growling tore through the air as the monster suddenly lumbered closer before opening fire on Deadpool. He sprung, jumped, rolled behind a dumpster.

/Are we really not going to waste this guy?/

[Did promise Spidey we’d try and detain him…]

/Oh boohoo. Detain him with your big guns. Then detain Spidey with your penis./ 

He could hear the damn thing shooting at Spidey again. That made him mad. Furious, actually. Deadpool jumped up on top of the dumpster, luckily it was shut unlike the one next to it. That would have been embarrassing.

“Hey! Wylie Coyote! Meep meep motha fucka!”

If that little witticism didn’t get the creep’s attention, the grenade he lobbed at him sure did. He pulled out his big guns to finish the job and-

Sadly, a machine gun can, and will, blow said grenade up mid-air causing Spider-Man to be blown back through a shop window, and several very sharp shards of glass to find its way into Deadpool, his stomach in particular. He dropped his precious guns into the darkness of bin-abyss next to him.

_Shit._

“Argh. You got me, pardnah!” Deadpool faux-staggered towards the menace. “Are you hungry like the woooollllf?” He sung, happily off-key.

Why hadn’t Spidey kicked this guy’s ass already? Surely he’d already distracted the mutt long enough for him, now he was going to get brutally machine gunned to death. Unless he wastes the guy first, still has his katanas after all, but he promised. Could kick the snot out of him… Then his mind really took in the scene. Whilst Wolf Man was preparing to slaughter Deadpool, Spider-Man was ushering a small crowd of people out of the restaurant, urging them down an alley, quietly.

The wolf approached, dragging his gun with him. The stench got there first.

“Wowee! Someone needs a widdle trip to the grooming parlour don’t they?”

Wolf Man’s hairy front lip curled up as he took aim with the machine gun, “One to talk.” He growled, so deep, like he was coughing it out. “You smell like garbage.”

Deadpool rolled around laughing. “That voice is precious! Say ‘Wonna Scooby Snack!’”

The noise of broken glass as a kiddie, barely older than twelve, popped up from behind a broken car husk, seeing Spider-Man and his evacuation, the boy sprinted towards him in terror. The wolf turned, saw the customers fleeing, saw the boy, took aim and –

Deadpool hurled himself in front of the spray of bullets, just as Spidey scooped the kid out of the way, swinging through the air…

The bullets ripped through him. His body jolted as he was torn apart.

_Forgot how much that fucking hurts…_

_______________________________

Waking up was better than the whole dying thing. Especially when one wakes up on what you can only assume to be Spidey’s couch.

“Err how long was I out for?” He groaned, voice raw. Growing new organs really was thirsty work. It was still dark outside the apartment. He wasn’t even sure if Spider-Man was there, waiting with him, possibly weeping over his lifeless body, begging him to wake up and ravish him…

He was still there. Nope, not Spidey, the mask was off. Peter Parker was in the house.

“It’s three AM and you were dead,” Peter corrected patiently, crouching next to Wade so he could hand him a glass of water.

“I know,” Wade groaned, pulling his mask off and knocking the liquid back.

“Happen a lot?”

“More than is recommended.” Wade wrinkled his nose. “Got anything stronger?”

Peter rolled his eyes: “Sorry, no.” He seemed to be having trouble meeting Wade’s gaze.

Wade blinked. “Is it the face? It’s the scars isn’t it? Giving you nightmares baby boy? What can I say, I’m sexy weather beaten type, hard to handle, for some.” Wade babbled nervously now those brown eyes were focused on him. He winked lecherously to make up for it as he handed the empty glass back to Peter.

“They don’t bother me. Why would they?” Peter asked quietly.

There was an awkward silence.

Wade cleared his throat. “So…Did you at least put the puppy down? Avenge my death all sexily and whatnot?”

“Puppy’s dead…” Peter confirmed, barely continuing an eye roll. It was practically audible, much to Wade’s amusement. Petey looked tired, something fond flared up in Wade’s chest at the observation. “And can we not call him that? It’s disturbing.”

Wade shrugged, pushed the fleeting feeling aside as he struggled to sit up. “So you were allowed to kill him and I wasn’t? No fair! I’m really good at it!”

“I’m not,” Peter happily admitted. “And I didn’t. I tied him up, kept him occupied for as long as I could. Then the police showed up and…”

“Kaboom splat?”

“Kabloom splat.” Peter confirmed solemnly, though it looked like he was fighting a smile.

He was still looking at Wade strangely. Wade didn’t like that one bit.

“At least you know a night out with me is never dull,” Wade said a little wrong-footed, pulling himself up and wandering over to the window, preparing to leave. “Had a bit of a morally dubious snuggle with my honey, killed an eighties throwback Wolf Man on a homicidal rampage, got murdered. All in all, I give this a solid nine out of ten, as far as dates go. Point knocked off for the whole, brutally machine gunned to death part of the evening. Could do without it. Next time, it’s tacos and rainbows all round.”

Peter snorted derisively, “Next time?!” Before trailing after Wade across the room. “Wade?” That’s definitely Peter’s hand on his wrist, stopping him from pulling on the mask and hurling himself out of that window. Seemed fitting. The night started with him creeping through it.

“What?” He wished he’d drunk more water, throat suddenly dry.

“It’s like you let him kill you or something.” Peter began shakily. He ran a hand through his mad hair. It was all really rather distracting, especially so close up. “Why didn’t you just hack that guy to death?”

Wade smiled, shrugged. “Because you asked me not to.”

[Well this is all very romantic.]

“Oh,” Peter looked very conflicted. Almost as if he was arguing with his own boxes. His eyes looked concerned and warm. Twice their usual doe-eyed size. He still had hold of Wade’s wrist too. He licked his lips, something confused and almost guilty in his expression.

“What? Saved the kid didn’t I?” Wade beamed proudly. “It’s all right. You can tell me I done good. Come on… I won’t let anyone else know you said it.”

/We’re gonna tape this right?!//

Peter never told him he ‘done good.’

He did however, kiss him instead.

________________________________

[Back to the future!]

Wade staggered away from the wall, Peter still clinging on, wrapped around his waist. Wade stumbled backwards, vaguely in the direction of Peter’s bed. His baby boy deserved a bed for his first time. First time with a man - who knew? First time with Wade anyway, and he was going to make him desperately not want it to be his last.

He kissed Peter frantically, before turning, and throwing him down on the bed. Only to wince as Peter bounced then smacked his head on the headboard.

“Ouch!”

“That doesn’t count! That doesn’t count as making you desperately want it not to be your last!” Wade babbled, waving his hands frantically.

Peter’s eyes were huge, dazed. “What the hell are you talking about? That bloody hurt!”

“Shush never mind, lie back, relax. Think of Wolverine if that helps. Picture me as one of your French girls,” he paraphrased cheekily.

“WADE!” Now he just looked pissed as Wade practically pounced on top of him. “We are not having sex…” It sounded very weak as a protest, especially when Wade rubbed the heel of his hand against the hardness between Peter’s legs. Caught his moan with another deep and dirty kiss, Peter’s arms wound round his broad shoulders of their own accord.

“Spideypool will happen. It’s what everyone came here to see, it’s what they’re gonna get.” Wade deadpanned.

“Oh God, what does that even mean…?” Peter groaned, bucked up helplessly against Wade’s body. “The Avengers’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“ _I’ll_ never look at you the same way again,” Wade promised, managing to make it sound exceptionally filthy. He straddled Peter in earnest, rolling his hips down firmly, causing Peter to make a choked sound. He grasped the bottom of Peter’s shirt, pulling it up to expose his stomach before attacking the skin with his tongue and lips, tracing enticing shapes, tauntingly slow.

“Guh!” That was a good noise. Wade approved. “Fuck, your mouth…”

/What a good idea!/

“Bet you been thinking of this all night… I know I have.” He growled, pulling off his gloves to touch the smooth skin, roll the top up further, skim over the ticklish, perfect pink skin, breathe against the hot skin of his sternum, press his face against his beating heart, lapping with his tongue. 

“You were dead for half the night!” Peter protested weakly.

“Still dreaming of you, babe.”

“That’s just creepy. And cheesy and scientifically impossib-ahh…” He trailed off as Wade’s hands and lips followed a manic trail, nipples, face, neck, his own mouth not far behind. “Fucking nerd,” Said Wade fondly.

“Wade!” Peter spluttered against Deadpool’s mouth. “It’s like screwing the Tasmanian devil! Will you slow down?”

“Hmm tempting…” Wade answered, sitting back on his haunches, whilst jamming Peter's fingers into his own mouth and sucking thoughtfully. Peter seemed to be going cross-eyed watching Wade go to town on his fingers, brain turning to mush.

He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, thoughtfully. Instead, he pulled Peter’s top off fully, touching as much as possible before peeling off those gorgeously tight pants with pleasure, knew he went commando. It was a battle, to banish those pants smoothly and ended up making them both giggle in the process, Wade practically roaring like a strongman to make Peter laugh even more. Once he’d defeated that obstacle, he proceeded to whip off his own clothes double quick time whilst somehow resisting the urge to make noises like Taz of Tasmania.

_I should get a medal for such control._

He sat back on his haunches once more to admire the view. Lean muscle, beautifully flushed skin, breathing heavy. Perky nipples he just had to swoop down and take a bite at…

“Oh Jesus!” He looked up to see Peter straining to get a look at him. “Wade you’re…” he trailed off.

“Patchy? Weird looking? An underground map network of scars? An avocado that mated with a hairless possum? I know. Heard it all before, baby boy.”

Peter’s eyes were wide. He shook his head, as if to clear it. Scrabbled to get up.

[Shit, you’ve ruined it.]

But it was only so he could crawl his way into Wade’s lap, wrap his legs around his waist once more.

_Fuuuuck…_

His arms wound round Wade’s shoulders, eyes inches from his own. Wade’s cock slipped snugly between the cheeks of that world class butt…

“Shit…” He breathed, writhing in Peter’s grasp.

“I was gonna say fucking ripped actually. And kind of drool-worthy.” Peter continued, voice rough. He blushed even deeper which made Wade grin shamelessly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And just so you know?”

“What?” Wade was finding it hard to concentrate. Pressed up against the long length of his naked body, everything damp and slippery and Peter was even rocking, sliding his ass along Wade’s length teasingly.

“Rough hands and…other places. Feels pretty damn hot to me.” He knew the boy wasn’t lying by the way he wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, shy but still thinking it needed to be shared.

Wade’s grin was predatory. He cupped his face, kissed him hard and deep, rocking their bodies together. He snatched Peter up tight, licked his hand before slipping it between their bodies, and gripping his cock.

_Spider-Man’s cock. That’s his schlong. His ding-a-ling. How dare we?!_

“Oh I dare alright,” He held Peter fast, so they could meld against one another, body to body, skin against skin, shivering over the line of discomfort. They both groaned with how incredible it felt. Wade started to pump more firmly, a nice rhythm, a gentle twist, the odd slip of the thumb to the slick head which had Peter biting his lip, hands clenching, nails digging into Wade’s shoulders. All the while, he studies Peter’s reaction. Drinking it in. _I did that. This is me, making his face go slack with pleasure. Making his eyes flutter shut, making him gasp, moan and shudder. I rule! This is so much better than porn!_

[We **are** the porn. We are **living** the porn!]

Peter’s hands ran tentatively down his back, cupping his ass, squeezing experimentally. He had to kiss him then for that pervy effort - _we’re so meant to be_ \- catching his gasps of pleasure as his hand continued to shift, a little faster now.

“Oh God, Wade…”

He bit his neck roughly, mouthed his way to Peter’s ear, briefly nipped at the lobe, teasingly slowing down the motion of his hand, enjoying the way it made Peter squirm desperately in his lap. Yum. He ground his own neglected cock against Peter’s ass a couple of times, sighing with the pleasure, practically bouncing Peter into the air. 

“Wade!” He whined a little desperately, pushing into the merc's grip encouragingly.

“Shush baby boy, I got you,” Wade practically cooed against his lips.

“You know,” Peter gasped out as Wade picked up the pace again with his hand and rocking motion, “That’d be much more comforting if you weren’t grinning like a jackal.” 

“Sorry!” Wade answered, realising it was true and grinning even more for it.

[We’re just so happy!]

/And horny, don’t forget horny. Can we nail him already?!/

Even Wade was shocked at his own crude mind. “No! No nailing!”

“What?!” Peter practically choked, sleepy eyes suddenly wider.

[Don’t listen to that guy. Make Peter feel good. Look at him! He’s just so pretty…]

“He really is…” Wade slurred in agreement, gently lowering Peter back to the bed, missing the headboard this time. He loosened his grip, rested his head on that soft stomach to peer up at him, hands massaging his soft inner thighs, tracing the line of his sharp hipbones with his mouth, suddenly tender.

“‘Who really is’ what?” Peter gasped out between breaths.

Wade ignored him. “Bad or good?”

“Hmm undecided…” Though the way he seemed to be automatically pushing his hips up into Wade’s hands seemed to argue against that conclusion.

“Real or not real?” Wade wondered quietly, mostly to himself.

“What?” Peter struggled to look down at him. “Wade…” He ran his hands over Wade’s bumpy head, traced the lines of his face. “It’s real. Believe me, it is. I’m kind of having trouble adjusting too…”

“Believe it,” Wade grinned, lowering his head, nuzzling Peter’s thighs before taking him into his mouth with no warning besides a devilish twinkle in his eyes that Peter was becoming dreadfully familiar with. 

Peter cursed. And bucked. And cursed some more.

“Spidey sense didn’t warn you about that now did it?” Wade pulled off just long enough to gloat.

Peter’s breathless laughter hit him in the best way, making his head bob. “You’re unbelievable.”

_Been called far worse, I’ll take that!_

He really went for it then, lapping at the head teasingly, smearing sloppy kisses, enjoying the primal taste of Peter, the way his body eagerly responded. Peter’s hands slipped against his skull, pushing, encouraging. His cock was as pretty as that ass, thick, curved red and eager. He palmed Peter’s ass again groping, lifting so he could take Peter right down to the fucking root. He sucked hard, Pulling up before sliding back down. Gripping with his free hand, twisting gently, slickness easing the way. 

Gasps and moans were ripped out of Peter’s body, guttural, animal. Wade kept his eyes open, peered up at him. Took in his flushed expression, the way he writhed, how he bit his lip. His hands stuck to the sheets, spread out like an offering, body taut, straining on the edge. _I’d love to tie him up. Mine. All mine. If anyone takes him away, they’ll be sorry, the whole fucking world’ll be sorry. Never want to stop making him feel this good, making me feel good._

Seized by a wave of possessiveness, he kept lifting those hips right off the bed, encouraging Peter to find his own pace, to fuck his face. He was delighted when Peter did just that, wrapping his legs around his shoulders tightly. He relaxed his throat, you never forget how, took him right down to the hilt, swallowing around him…

“Wade! Fuck Wade, get off!” Peter moaned. “Too much. Come on, let go. Gonna come…” He warned, babbling.

 _Well, that’s the general idea,_ Wade thought smugly.

He even enjoyed it once Peter finally stopped trying to twist away and just let go, slick heat spilling right down his throat. He watched his expression, swallowing determinedly, the way he shut his eyes, body stung so tight, spine arching, expression almost looking as though he couldn't believe it.

[You’re a twisted man Wade Wilson]

/ _We’re_ a twisted man! Now do it again! Do it again!/

Peter collapsed on the bed, panting, staring up at the ceiling until Wade’s head lumbered into view. He stretched out on top of him, enjoying the warm press of his loose body. Peter hazily reached up, palmed his face, groping until Wade showed mercy and leaned down for a kiss.

Peter broke away, wrinkled that cute nose of his, “Ew. You taste like…” He trailed off awkwardly.

“Your fault,” Wade grinned, beaming with pride. He rocked into Peter’s leg, reminding him oh so subtly of his own pressing need. “Liked that didn’t you?”

“Didn’t suck.” They met each other’s eyes for one absurd moment until Peter snorted quick laughter at that. “Sorry. But you’re kind of a dumbass for asking me that. Had to say it.” Peter admitted, though he said it fondly, running his hands down Wade’s bumpy chest, tracing his nipples, scratching lightly at his scars with his nails so Wade just had to kiss him then, curling into his touch like a cat.

“What do you want me to do?” Peter asked after a moment, now sounding slightly nervous. Wade was fucking huge. Peter slid his hand down, wrapping it around Wade’s cock, expression uncertain. Wade buried his face in Peter’s neck, breathed shakily, rocked forward obligingly. Peter looked so innocent. He couldn’t hold on much longer, much less messily prep that ass with all the patience and care Peter required and deserved.

“Well... You could roll over.”

At his alarmed expression, Wade let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing like that…Not this time anyway.”

Which was how he came to be rutting against that beautiful, full, heart-shaped ass of his dreams. Sweat poured off him, he was practically snarling. Anyone else would have been pounded into the mattress without Peter’s super strength, Peter just took it.

“Well, this is romantic…” Peter sighed sarcastically, on his hands and knees, legs spread, a view that made Wade regret his earlier decision and want to just take…

He settled for grinding wantonly, gripping Peter’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, forcing those cheeks apart, plastered against Peter’s back. Sweat eased the way and the air was filled with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh. He couldn’t hold back. The view was gorgeous after all, his and Peter’s compromise. He was holding Peter up at this point. He’d rather smugly noticed how Peter’s legs had tuned to jelly. Now they flushed, beautifully pink from the friction of Wade’s eager body. His cock occasionally caught on Peter's tight, perfect rim, making his toes curl and eyes roll back.

Peter’s words eventually sunk through the primal layers of lust. He was never much good at listening at the best of times, let alone when his cock was sliding along the crease of Peter’s perfect ass.

“Oh you want romance?” He gritted out, heart racing, panting like he was running for his life. It was too much. What he’d fantasied about (except there was usually spandex, not his bare, meaty cheeks, his hole open, waiting…maybe next time). “I’ll bring you fucking flowers. Pick a whole damn field of 'em myself, skipping all merry in a toga.”

“Please don’t!”

“Okay…Well I’ll show _you_. I’ll fucking eat you out next time til you're begging me to bend you in half and take you… romantically of course!” he added sweetly. 

“No you bloody will not!” Peter sounded half horrified, half stupidly turned on, gasping out breaths that were punctuated by Wade’s powerful thrusts, almost lifting his knees off the bed. Good thing Peter was such a contortionist. “And what do you mean ‘next time?’” He teased.

Wade paused then, pulled away in his outrage though he was so close… _God, I’m good._ He pushed Peter bonelessly over so he could drape his whole body over his, look him directly in the eyes as he took his hand in his, dragged it down, and placed it on his cock, finding a rhythm together. 

“Yeah smartass, next time…” He hummed happily, taking in that soft-stunned expression. Peter was turned on again, confused, already picturing it, he could tell.

He’d give in. He’d have him again, over and over. He’d seen his face now. The look as he finished, the way his body curved into his, how he chased Wade’s lips, desperate for more touch, more affection, even from a warped psychopath like him. Wade was in his system now. That suited him just fine.

He’d be so easy to break. But it was better watching him piece himself back together.

He sped up their conjoined grip, kissed Peter hard into the pillows. Then, he came as Peter held him together.

_Gotchya…_

 

___________________________________________________________

“You complete me.”

“That’s from a movie.”

“How ‘bout this? I could stay awake, just to hear you breeeathing…” He crooned.

“Please don’t.”

“Uh…I’ll have what she’s having?”

“I will kick you out of this bed again Wade, I swear to God.” 

He wrapped his arms around Peter’s slight frame, pulled him closer, snuggled in. “I know, Spidey. I know.” He sighed happily.

 _Trapped now, mwahahahahah!_

"…"

“Did you just evil laugh at me?!”

“Noooo…”


	3. Chapter 3

Just one time.

That’s all it was. That’s all it can ever be. Peter knows this. He’s sure as hell that Wade knows it too on some level in that powder keg he calls a brain. They would be a total mess. They’d be fucking  _toxic_. Why else would Wade have vanished by the morning, leaving nothing but an ache in Peter’s muscles and messed up sheets? He obviously had regrets. It’s better that way. It’s a good thing, it really is. Peter’s fine with it. Almost  _really_.

The problem is, once you’ve slept with Wade Wilson, it becomes impossible to undo it, to forget. Regret, yes. But forget? 

Sometimes he catches himself replaying the moment of madness. Okay, so it was more than a moment. And more than sometimes. A whole night, in Wade’s grasp, writhing, gasping, touching. Wade’s infuriating mouth: such a smartass in everything he does, even smarter when tracing the most sensitive planes of Peter’s skin, hot and heavy, whispering gruff, impolite confessions. How did he know? Did he transfer his hidden knowledge of Peter’s anatomy, gleaned from all the times they fought in the past? Those arms had hurled him off a bridge before. Now they held him like he was something to be worshiped. The thought of that was…hot. And pretty scary actually.

Then there was Wade’s deadly, dangerous body: so huge and powerful, pressing against him, all sharp angles and mouth-watering muscles, covered in jagged scars that looked so incredibly painful. It’s as if he’d been broken down and carelessly stitched back together by some moron who couldn’t give a fuck about the end result, or Wade’s discomfort. It left an impression of raw vulnerability over Peter, one that made him pull Wade closer, kiss him a little harder, wanting to make it good, to  _be_  good for him. 

It’s Wade’s expression that stayed with him. Changing from a delighted and downright dirty grin, to a dark, hungry and intensely focused stare, madness crackling sharply at the edges, all concentrated on Peter. He’d revered Peter’s body, mumbled grateful praise against slick skin, looked like he wanted to eat him alive.

Peter shivers at the memory as he crouches on the balcony edge, wincing at the bite of wind and the clench of dull pain spreading through his ribs. Some freakishly strong, generic bank robber (black clothes, hoodie, balaclava – even a swag bag for fucks sake!) had caught him right in the middle, a punch that had sent him flying through the air. He’d recovered long enough to kick the robber’s ass of course, stringing him up like the world’s ugliest caterpillar and leaving him as a present for the cops. He watches as they bundle said ugly robber into the back of a police van now, making sure he gives them no trouble.

"Give me animal themed, Villain Of The Week wackos any day," He sighed.

Now the adrenaline has left his body, he feels drained, weary and bone tired. His teeth chatter as the shock and cold sets in. All he wants is to go home, shower, crawl into bed and stay there at least until his ribs stop purpling. If he’s really being honest, he wants to crawl into bed and have someone be there, waiting for him. To hold and be held. Maybe spend time with someone who makes no demands of him, makes him feel wonderful, powerful, beautiful even. Someone who leaves him feeling desirable, wanted – in a world that often treated him like a weirdo that it could very much do without. Someone who makes him laugh, who doesn’t judge him or see him as a ‘Morally Dubious Web-Slinging Freak!’ (copyright: yesterday’s Daily Bugle, thank you very much).

All he wants is someone to share his day with. To rant about how his web cartridges misfired, but he had no time to reload since Mr Bank Robber wasn’t going to have a ‘time out,’ no matter what Spider-Man suggested. Douche face. He wants to moan about his bruised ribs, have someone make a fuss over him, trace the bruise with gentle yet rough-skinned fingers, tongue, lips. 

Okay, yes. He wants Wade. He’s mature enough to admit that. He’s not stupid. Well, maybe he is. Wade is hardly relationship material. He’d be more likely to pounce on him, give him a taco flavoured kiss with too much tongue and mercilessly poke him in the ribs before babbling away merrily in a one-sided conversation about Bea Arthur or “That sexually aggressive squirrel I saw once in Central Park that was hung like a frickin’ horse. It was frightening.”

Peter snorts under his mask upon remembering that conversation. It wouldn't matter what Wade was wittering on about. As long as he was happy and not stabbing anything, he could actually be quite good company. And then there were his skills in the bedroom… Peter shakes his head, feeling a little faint. Men weren’t really his area before now, but Wade… Man, Wade made him proudly storm into that area without even questioning it, skipping merrily, hands raised in surrender, going for it. Wade always did make him feel daring, a little reckless.

 _And therein lies the madness of Peter Parker. Better start saving now, I’m going to need_ so _much therapy… Maybe Spider-Man could ask for donations?!_

And with that, Peter gathers his strength, before elegantly swinging off the balcony, gliding through the crisp air of his city towards that promised hot shower and fabled early night. 

“Can’t have it all,” He sighed tiredly.

__________________________

 

[So… Can we go see him yet?!]

“No.”

/It’s been two days.  _Two whole days_. We’ve been such a good boy…/

“Drop it.”

/Are we joining the priesthood? Becoming a fucking monk?!/

“I said, drop it.”

[Ah, they’d never let us join. Remember Thailand?!]

/Blowing up that temple was an  _accident_./  White box insisted.  //All those Draculas underneath… And anyway, no one got hurt!/

[The brotherhood had already run away screaming from our naked meditation time.] 

“Will you guys just shut up about bloody Peter Parker for at least two seconds?” Deadpool roared, pulling a gun out and putting it to his own head threateningly. “I mean it! I’ll do it!”

If boxes could blink in surprise, that’s what they’d be doing.

/Big guy? We  _are_  you. And we weren’t talking about Pe- mmm,  _that_  guy anyway /

[Maybe you just really want to see him too?] Yellow box suggested timidly, little more than a ghost of a suggestion in Wade’s head.

Wade held the glock against his masked temple for a moment longer, just to show them who’s boss, before reluctantly slipping it back into his holster with a weary sigh. He whirred around his makeshift home, an abandoned warehouse full of stockpiled weapons and, thanks to a small kitchen, an excessive amount of pancakes. His favourite activity when under duress or extreme boredom was to cook up a mountain load of them. He paced across the floor, frustration and pent up energy obvious with every anxious step.

“We just need a distraction,” He insisted.

Alas, one extremely questionable merc job had not been enough to take his mind off the nerd of his dreams it would seem. His lithe, flexible body, his hands, his sharp tongue, his smile. Not even when a staggering amount of cash was offered, from a downright despicable property developer (an environment gobbling tycoon), who wanted a ‘thorn in his side’ (translation: sweet but mouthy little old lady environmentalist) disposed of (translation:  _ganked_ ) with all the subtlety and nuance a renowned mercenary like Deadpool possesses ( _snort_!). Wade however, unfortunately had to skilfully alter their plans (he shot his fucking ass off) and renegotiate the terms of their payment plan (half for him, half for Greta, old lady hippy who makes a mean garden vegetable soup).

_Yep, not enough._

_Aright, alright, you got me. So I want Peter Parker, okay? HAPPY NOW?! I want more of that ass! I wanna be sparkly crime-fighting superhero spandex boyfriends and pet his hair and cook him pancakes and smooch in public until he blushes like a sexy tomato and play-fight with him but really just so we can dry hump on the floor and go get ice cream and eat it off of him and slow dance with him and make tacos and watch Golden Girls and kick his ass on that games console of his because he sucks and never let him live it down and trap him in his bedroom and refuse to let him leave unless it’s for any of the above reasons…_

He stopped pacing, shocked by his own sudden realisation.

/Shit. Sounds like a relationship./

“Fuck, I  _know._ ” Wade moaned out loud, hiding his face in his hands.

[Relationship might go better if we at least see him. Every now and then. Just a thought…]

“That’s why we can’t.” Wade murmured, feeling determined and ever so slightly depressed. 

[Because he won’t want us?] Yellow box suggested sadly.

 _Because we want it too much?_ Wade joined in, puzzling it out.

/Because he’s fucking using us like the rest of them?/ Growled white box.

[No! Not Spidey.] Yellow sounded scandalised. [It’s because we’d hurt him, isn’t it?]

“Bingo, ding ding ding! You win the family-sized toaster!” Wade confirmed, sick-manic grin stretching out the lower half of his mask into a grimace. “All of the above actually. Don’t exactly have the best track record do we? And well...”

/[  ?!  /]

“Wouldn’t want to seem too eager now would I? That’d be so needy.” He said anxiously, dropping down into his chair moulded from plastic explosive (it had been a long day). He could practically feel the boxes rolling their eyes, if they had any eyes to roll that is. “Might be a tiny bit mad at us for sneaking off too.”

/Or relieved./

“So supportive!” Wade declared, heavy on the sarcasm.

[Thought you just said we needed to stay away from him anyway?]

/We’re really not that honourable./

“Plus, we’re practically boyfriends now!” Wade beamed, talking himself round, as per usual, mood swinging up once more “Let’s face it: I’m not going to be able to stay away. It’s like giving up tacos-

/NOOOOOO!!!!”/

-That’s never gonna happen.”

He smiled dreamily, puzzling out the situation. If he couldn’t take his mind off the boy he might as well go into it whole heartedly. Deadpool doesn’t do things by halves.

_That should be on a fricking T-shirt!_

“But how to get his attention without seeming too…”

[Desperate?] Yellow box supplied.

/Horny?/ White suggested helpfully.

[Needy?]

/Absolutely gagging for more Spidey cock?!/

Deadpool jumped up, clapping his hands, practically dancing with excitement.

“That's it! I know just the ticket, really subtle, dead romantic! I'm a genius...”

_____________________________

Peter is swinging through the heights of Long Island when he sees it. And nearly ends up in the East River.

**“BABY BOY! I MISS YOUR SPIDEY-COCK! CALL ME! 0800-DEADPOOL-RULES!”**

It’s even followed by a suspicious smiley icon that appears to be half Spider-Man, half Deadpool. How considerate.

A huge spray painted banner, hung from the most prominent tower of the Brooklyn Bridge.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him!”

______________________________

“Hey Spidey-baby! Finally got your message! You won’t believe how many voicemails I had to sort through first. The people of this city are just plain filthy! Some of the graphic things they wanted to do to me… Well, mostly my butt.  _Well_  mostly my butt and some cylindrical objects. But anyway, I’ll just leave that to your imagination. Or you could come and try it out for yourself? Just a suggestion...”

Peter snorted, blushed and pressed the cell phone harder against his ear in case anyone on the street should overhear Wade’s enthusiastic message.

“Oh unclench! I’m _kidding_. Sort of. Also, and feel free to call me crazy here kid, but after listening to your message, I kind of got the impression you might just be the teensiest little bit angry with me? Probably just my little old hyperactive imagination again – ha! And all your swearing… Anyway! I’m staying at the old textiles factory over by the river – remember? Where I got brutally gunned down by Hit Monkey that one time?*

_*see Deadpool (vol. 4) #19-21 kids!_

…Our first date! Good times. I wore a dress, you couldn’t take your eyes off me, who could blame you?! Come to think of it, I get shot down a lot around you in more ways than one, so don’t disappoint me now. I’ve been so good, hanging round, doing charity work, as per usual. Come and see me since you worked out my secret message oh so cleverly, my edible little genius. Help me Spidey-Wan! You’re my only hope!”

Peter rolled his eyes, worried they might never stop. Secret message?! He’s sure everyone in the city had worked that one out,  _everyone_ , from the Avengers to Hobo Jim, the guy who lives on the stoop next door to Peter’s building and talks to his hand.

The last rambling line of the voicemail was surprisingly gentle and sincere: “I’ve kind of been missing your face Parker, just so you know. So you’re aware. So come. Or not. Whatever. I’m easy. But you already knew that… Bye!” He could practically hear the sleazy wink.

Peter huffed out a breath of exasperation, feet already leading him in the direction of the subway that would take him to Wade whilst he had a furious internal debate inside his head. Too much time spent around Deadpool.

 _Can’t encourage this sort of behaviour! I had to lie to Steve Rogers,_ the _Steve Rogers - Captain bloody America! Told him I would stay away from Wade and that of course I don’t know why he’d write something so vulgar in the first place ha ha ha! I lied to the hero of our nation! The man who punched Hitler in the face!_

He turned on his heel, determinedly walking away from the subway entrance.

_But admittedly, I do kind of miss Wade. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a total idiot man-child. And a dick. Don’t think about Wade and dick in the same sentence, we’re better than that… But he makes me laugh. I could at least go to warn him off?!_

He turned back, nearly crashing into a furious faced business man in the process.

“Why don’t you look where you’re going? Stupid-ass kid!”

_If I don’t go and see him, he’ll only cause more havoc in the city. Who knows how it would escalate? He might actually send me those flowers, or take out an ad in the Bugle…More likely blow it up for all the shit they write about us... Christ! He could go all full on Romeo on me, under my balcony.”_

Whilst the momentary image of Wade in tights was most entertaining, and very wrong, it was partly ruined by the idea that he was having some kind of panic attack slash identity crisis in the middle of the street. Not cool.

Peter clenched his hands into fists, took a deep, steadying breath.

_“Look at me. Monsters and psychos I can handle, one night with Wade Wilson and I’m acting like an idiot. Time to grow up, accept responsibility. He wants my attention after all. Now he’s got it and I still need to kick his ass for that stunt he pulled. I’m doing this for Captain America, really, when you think about it. I’m doing it for America! The people of New York. And – er - the kids! Not because I can’t get that annoying psycho out of my head._

_…I_ **am** _a stupid-ass kid._

_______________________________________

“Wade fucking Wilson,” Peter gritted out, stepping into the derelict factory.

“Baby boy!” Deadpool cried out delightedly, fully masked and suited up. He had exchanged the plastic explosive chair for one made of pancakes. It was surprisingly comfortable and a definite improvement. Wade was thinking about writing a book on building chairs using only unconventional materials. It had ‘Pulitzer’ written all over it. But then he realised he wasn’t an absolute fucking dullard and scrapped that idea immediately.

Wade struggled to his feet, scattering pancakes in his enthusiasm. He bounded over like an overgrown puppy to where Peter stood unimpressed, and bounced in front of him, suddenly uncertain. The plan had been to dive into Peter’s arms and smooch his face off. Now though… He took in Peter’s slightly stiff posture  _and not in a good way, nudge-nudge, wink-wink…_

“You’re not all Spidey’d up!” Deadpool yelled enthusiastically, noticing his hoodie and snugly fitting jeans with pleasure, interpreting it as a good sign.

“Didn’t want Spider-Man further associated with you.” Peter sounded cross. “News hates me enough as it is.”

“Hey, you mad?” Wade asked, ignoring the barb (used to it) as he finally picked up on his idol’s mood. He pawed at the sleeves of his folded arms anxiously. “Don’t be mad Scarlet – have a pancake!”

“You’ve been sat on them!”

“Just keeping the love nest warm for you like a sexy mama bird.”

“That’s extremely disturbing. And gross.”

“Come on, you  _know_  my ass is hot.”

“Wade…” Peter groaned, rubbing at his eyes, suddenly exhausted. “What the hell are you playing at?”

Wade tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Your message, which I had to take down myself thank you very much - not cool by the way.” Peter glared. So adorable.

“I didn’t use your name!” Wade protested.

“You used that stupid symbol!”

“Spideypool is not stupid!” Wade yelled sulkily.

[Whoa big guy. Might want to take it down a notch?]

/This is not going as planned…Why isn’t he naked yet?/

“I believe you used the phrase ‘Spidey-cock!” Peter snarled, face red as Deadpool’s suit now.  _Like matching boyfriends!_

“Hey now! That could have been meant for anyone!” Wade retorted. “Personally I think you’re seeing what you want to see.”

“You’re unbelievable!” The hero spluttered, arms raised to the heavens as if that could possibly help him.

“Why thank you…” Wade preened, linking his fingers together behind his back, curtseying cutely. 

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

“Come on, don’t be a grumpy guts. Got you here didn’t it? Go on, sit down. Let’s hang out.”

“Wade…” It was a warning.

“Alright. I uh… I guess I just wanted to see you,” He finally admitted, not quite meeting Peter’s eyes. Though it was hard to tell under the mask.

“You ever hear of a phone?” Peter huffed though his tone was gentle.

“Did I just score your digits?” Wade grinned, slowly prowling closer.

“Hey!” Peter held his palms out to Wade, as if to ward him off, good luck with that one. He was suddenly looking at Peter like he was a piece of meat. “Come on now…” Peter began.

Suddenly Wade found it very difficult to meet his eyes, sensing rejection in Peter’s tone. Of course. He risked a glance and saw nothing but sympathy there. And maybe some fear. He didn’t want to see that. Not from Peter. Not ever.

“Okay, I know. One shot deal, porn without plot, no established relationship right? Gotchya. All just a big mistake? Writer twat really should have put that in the tags!” He yelled, confusing Peter but still trying to keep his voice bright and bubbly. A deeply unhappy edge kept sneaking its way back in though, curses. He whirled round, suddenly facing Peter. “You lose! You get nothing! Good day, sir!” He exclaimed, still beaming under the mask before attempting to storm off. In his own home.

And stumbling over some pancakes in the process.

/ Moron. /

“Wade wait!” He stopped and turned, sheepish. 

“I meant to fall over just then,” He insisted.

Peter’s eyes were huge. And bewildered. “Was that from…Willy Wonka?”

/Fuck, he got the reference. This  _hurts_. Do we love him or something?/

[Think we always have just a little bit, even before we met.]

/Fucking idiot.../ White box added fondly, though not without sympathy.

Peter shook his head, tried again, “Wade, I never said I didn’t want to -”

“Hey, none of that! No point in standing round here chin-wagging! Got places to be, jobs to run, people to kill - shit! Pretend you didn’t hear that last one.” Sensing the need for a new approach, he wrapped his arm around Peter and tried to propel him towards the exit. “No need for emotionally constipated break up speeches, this ‘aint Bridget Jones Diary sweetheart! I’d look so much better in that bunny outfit anyway. We both know it.” 

Damn, Peter was _strong_ , it was hard work, dragging him towards the door -  _really quite a turn on_. “Get off me!” He stood firm, until Wade jostled his ribs that is.

“Ouch!”

“You’re hurt?” Wade finally quit pawing at Peter, just hovered, looking down at him passively, clenching his hands into fists. His body seemed to thrum with nervous energy, with a sick kind of vitality that drew Peter helplessly in. He wanted to reach out to him, to understand and help, stop his frantic rambling. He craved a small portion of that attention, of that zest for life for himself. Wanted to soothe, to comfort.

“Healing.” Peter admitted warily, stepping back a little to clear his head.

“Who did this?” Wade’s voice was suddenly dark. Murderous even.

“Uh, there’s no way I’m telling you.” Peter answered quickly. “I handled it.”

“I’ll Google it.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Just tell me the fight involved spandex and lots of web-bondage?”

“Yes dude, but I don’t know why you have to make it sound so dirty.” That spark was back in the air again. They were coasting back into dangerous territory - casual flirting. Peter had intended to shut that down, but the way Wade was looking at him, even through the mask. The way his body was gravitating towards him was making it harder to breathe steady. Wade was so close… He reached out with a gloved hand, gently traced a finger over Peter’s jawbone before withdrawing all too quickly. That brief contact alone sent a shiver down Peter’s spine.

Wade’s hands were back in front of him then, resuming their anxious twisting. Before he could stop himself, Peter grabbed them, pulled them apart, taking one in each hand, just holding them. “You stop that. Relax.” Peter murmured softly, just wanting to erase that awful vibe Wade was projecting, like a hurt animal backed into a corner. 

Wade stared at their gently interlocked fingers dumbly. “Huh.”

“You need to stop putting words into my mouth.” Peter advised calmly, noting the contrast of red material, against his tanned skin.

“Got something else I could put into your-” Wade began reflexively.

“Wade!” Peter dropped his hands, outraged. “Why do you always-”

“Sorry! Sorry!” He babbled nervously. “Didn’t expect me to leave that hanging did you?”

Peter murmured something extremely off-colour and unbefitting of a superhero involving Wade’s anatomy and a pair of tweezers.

“C’mon Pete, don’t be like that. Grab my hands again!”

“Forget it. You killed it. Completely bitch-slapped it in the face.” He sighed. “What are we doing?” Peter wondered, running a hand through his long hair.

“Tell me about it. Even I’m having trouble adjusting. Me! Mr Sanity and Reason! Even tried to shoot you outta my head earlier.” Wade admitted softly, finally meeting Peter’s eyes. “Well, almost.”

“What?!” Peter choked out, horror rising at the image. He’d expected some kind of smutty retort, but  _this_?

“What – ‘what?’ You were floating about in my thoughts – rude! -  so I thought ‘I need this like a hole in the head!’ Get it? Get it?!”

“But that’s mental…” He wanted to grab that masked face, with those unreadable eyes, shake some sense into him. Wade scared him to death yet he needed him. Didn’t he get that?

“Well helloooo!” Wade answered, gesturing at himself.

“Don’t do that.” Peter’s voice was steely, a warning. Wade immediately knew he was referring to the self-shooting, as opposed to his wacky deflection techniques.

“I can’t die,” Wade began uncertainly.

“I don’t care!” Peter shouted, sounding genuinely upset. “That doesn’t mean I want to see you hurt yourself.”

They stared at each other. Wounded brown eyes meeting fathomless material.

/ Now would be a good time to - okay that’s good! / White box rambled as Wade moved into Peter’s personal space, gently placing his hands on Peter’s hips, looking down at him.

“Big faker,” He murmured around a ridiculous lump in his throat. “You so do care.”

“Shut up.” Peter grouched, leaning into the mad man’s touch. But who’s crazier? The mad man or the one who follows him? Peter bumped his head against Wade’s chest, cat-like in his movements. Wade made a noise of contentment and rubbed his face against the top of Peter’s head, inhaling the clean scent of his hair.

“You put the lime in the coconut and drink ‘em both up…” He crooned softly, swaying their bodies slightly as he gently wrapped his arms round Peter’s slender waist. Peter didn’t ask.

Instead, he peered up at the loon, slowly eased the mask up, leaving his hands on Wade’s jaw so he could pull him closer, kiss the away the damage.

Because he had hurt him. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t originally intended this to be a one night thing. But that’s what people do to Wade, to Deadpool. They use him up, then chuck him away. All his life.

Peter wasn’t kissing Wade because he felt sorry for him. Wade made a pleased murmur as Peter pressed his body against his, and it excited him, made his temperature shoot up. He wanted this insane, impossible man, for as long as they could hold themselves together without destroying the world in the process. He wanted this man. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of gun oil, sweat and leather.

And Wade, never one for self-introspection was just enjoying the moment, coasting along on a wave of pleasure and sensation. His hands slipped around Peter’s body easily, finding that ass again, kneading it as he pulled Peter even closer.

Peter broke away, breathing heavy. “You’re obsessed with my ass, you menace, leave it alone.”

“Never!” Wade roared sounding scandalised. “For I love it more than you.” He added, winking fiendishly before diving back in for another kiss, running the tip of his tongue along Peter’s lower lip until he moaned slightly.

“I am such an idiot.” Peter gasped out as Wade trailed kisses down his neck.

“Nice isn’t it?” Wade murmured into his ear, low voice causing a shiver to run down Peter’s spine.

“Yeah, it’s nice you jackass.” He admitted, before pulling the mask fully off and finding that infuriating mouth again.

________________________________

He had intended to tell Wade to back off, to cool down, stop leaving stupid love, or rather _lust_ , messages over the city and generally just buzz off.

Instead, he found himself naked, spread eagled on a mattress of questionable cleanliness, in a position the Daily Bugle would shit itself in complete jubilation to get a picture of, either CEO Peter Parker or Spider-Man - whichever. The only thing that kept him from combusting into self-righteous flames was that Wade was also blessedly naked between his thighs, currently placing damp, gentle butterfly kisses on the sensitive skin over his bruised ribs. It made Peter ridiculously pleased, he had to fight down a soppy grin.

“Poor baby,” Wade cooed, hot breath skimming over damp skin in a way that made him shiver, left him squirming with desire and okay, a daft kind of happiness. Maybe a part of him wanted to be worshiped like this, babied a little. He’d never admit it. Wade seemed to know anyway.

Also a very long, skilled, and okay admittedly quite clever finger was currently inside him, teasing at his entrance, circling, penetrating, testing his limits. Not forgetting that. It made him dig his nails sharply into those huge shoulders, torn between mild panic and being ridiculously turned on.

He writhed against Wade, rubbed against his frankly alarming erection, swallowing hard. “Fuck, would you just look at yourself?” Wade’s voice was low, as serious as he’d ever heard it. Peter couldn’t trust himself to answer, voice dry and caught behind a moan. “Pretty as a picture.” That had made him blush fiercely, absurdly pleased. 

Wade followed the trail of goosebumps over Peter’s bare chest, kissing, nipping with the barest hint of teeth once he’d reached his nipples. He took one into his mouth, sucking hard, making Peter’s vision blur. Peter shifted, grunted, became impossibly harder. At the same time, Wade’s finger slipped in deeper, aided by the lube he’d kept in that magical utility belt of his.

“Who the hell carries lube around with them?!” Peter had asked, high pitched and mildly grossed out.

“Your. New. BOYFRIEND!” Wade had emphasised, cackling madly as he pounced on Peter, who was laughing too hard to protest at the time. They’d wrestled. Wade had nearly poured lube into his eye until Peter had pointed out that wasn’t particularly sexy. Peter had pinned him easily not long afterwards, much to Wade’s delight. Had only let him go once Wade had tapped out, implying he was getting ‘a little too over excited if you know what I mean?’ It was something to keep in mind anyway, Wade’s fondness for being dominated. Well, when it was Peter anyway.

“Mr Parker, I’d like to introduce you to a mutual friend,” Wade slurs now, finding his way back to that most vulnerable and sensitive part of Peter’s throat, the area that makes him shiver if you so much as breathe on it the right way. Wade, of course, seemed to already know this, and used it quite frequently to make Peter squirm helplessly, clearly enjoying himself.  _Fucking asshole._  Wade mouthed at the spot roughly, focused in a way he so rarely displays when he isn’t seducing the hell out of Peter.

“What are you going on about now?” The young hero murmured, exasperated, mouth full of cotton, gasping for hot air that gave him little relief. His hands had just found their way to Wade’s muscular ass and was pawing at it, using it to drag the long length of his body closer. Wade’s finger circled teasingly, making his body break out in a dirty sweat. He was  _good_ , dammit. 

“This friend has been neglected for a very long time, but wants you to know that all is forgiven now that I am here to treat him right.”

“Wade, remember when I hit you with my boot?” Peter asked sweetly.

“Peter Parker, meet your prostate. Prostate meet Peter Parker…Heh! It’s like a dirty tongue twister!”

“Fucking hell!” Peter couldn’t keep that moan in as Wade effectively stroked the bundle of nerves inside him. Pleasure sharply ripped through his body, causing his hips to buck right off the mattress. Wade held him down easily. It was hard to tell what turned him on more. “Do it again. Please. Just - ahhh!” He gasped, groaned, clutched Wade tighter as he obliged, grinning like a villain. That pressure doubled inside, causing his cock to pulse, breath to tear out of him (and when did Wade add a second finger anyway?!). 

“You’re too good at that,” He admitted grudgingly as Wade sat up between his legs to get a good view. “How are you so good at that?”

“Practice?” Wade grinned sheepishly and a ripple of…something tore through Peter at that. Practice with whom? Other men? Peter repressed a spike of envy. Envy towards Wade’s other partners and jealousy that Wade had experience in the first place. This was Peter’s first time with a man, why was he always on the wrong foot around Wade Wilson? 

Unless… Wade had tried this on himself? Seeing what worked, what didn’t. The thought made Peter’s heart rate quicken, his mouth go dry. The concentration, those huge thighs spread open wantonly as young Wade pushes into himself, fingers slick, determined if a little unsure…

“Petey? Still with me?” The pleasure fizzed though his mind as Wade did it again, watching Peter carefully, drinking up the image of him. His dreamy expression, the way his body shuddered with pleasure, hips jolting. He answered the question by pushing down into Wade’s hand, craving that pressure, the stretch, that beautiful, fierce ache.

Wade’s mouth fell open at that, mind blanking at the sight of Peter chasing after his touch, pushing his hips into his hands. So hot. He swooped down to kiss Peter, a dirty kiss, capturing his gasps of pleasure as he roughly pressed that bundle of nerves inside him, that mysterious spot, none too gently, over and over.

He could taste Peter’s cries of pleasure, feel his body twitching and jerking under his.

“W-Wade, stop.” Peter ordered against Wade’s mouth.

“Shit!” Wade pulled away, slipped his fingers from Peter’s body, ignoring the way it caught at him, resisting. 

“What are you doing?!” Peter babbled, incredulously. His body was already feeling the loss, clenching after something that was no longer there.

“Did I hurt you? I got a bit carried away with all those porno sound effects you were making, sorry.” He smiled a little worriedly. “Good or not good?”

Peter woozily pushed himself up into a sitting position so he could wrap an arm around Wade, pull him closer for a sloppy kiss. “Good, you idiot-man. I just didn’t wanna finish up too early. Like when I pinned you?” He prompted upon seeing Wade’s blank look. But little did he know that blankness was a mask. For inside, the boxes and Wade were having a little fiesta, complete with singing and fireworks, a whole bloody chorus of ‘Hallelujah!’ complete with heavenly choir and guitar solos. It took a moment for him to shake off the hallucination.

Outwardly, Wade regained his cool. “Ah hmm. Yes. Well that’s alright then!” Only for his mind to fizzle out again once Peter lay back, taking Wade with him, and guiding his hand back down to his moist and hastily stretched entrance of his own accord.

“Get on with it then.” 

“Guh?” Wade shook his head like a cartoon character. “I mean, yes sir!” He gave a little salute before continuing.

It was a blur from there. Two gave way to three fingers, rushing. Stretching, pressing, playing Peter like an instrument, coaxing all kinds of beautiful sounds from him. Bodies pressed tightly together, kisses with lots of tongue and traded shaky breaths. Wade’s other hand on Peter’s hip, lifting with ease, encouraging Peter to find his own rhythm.

“That’s right, put your hips into it. Make yourself feel good,” He ordered encouragement against the hinge of Peter’s jaw, biting at his throat. He was delighted when Peter responded, undulating into his grasp, hips leaving the mattress, pressing into him rhythmically, moaning. He rubbed his thigh teasingly against Wade’s cock, everything getting slick and moist and heavy.

“God, you’re so gorgeous. You’re all sexy and bendy and amazing. The Amazing Spider-Man - ha! Though you’re not that spider-y. Don’t have eight legs. Or eight of anything else... Imagine that - what a challenge! I think that could get a bit messy though. Imagine fitting all that junk into spandex. Mom and Dad sure won’t wanna buy _that_ action figure…”

“You  _need_  to shut up,” Peter growled, scraping his teeth against the shell of Wade’s ear. “In fact, it’s important that you do, lifesaving even.”

“Ooh do that again!” 

So he did, obligingly. Enjoying the resulting whimper and temporary silence. He shifted his leg, gave Wade something to rut against.

“You need to fuck me Wade. Now. I don’t think I can…” Peter closed his eyes, rocked into the firmness of Wade’s hip to prove his point.

“Hush, baby boy, let go if you want to. I’ll take care of you.” Wade encouraged, whispering more mush that was half romantic (in his mind) half pure filth.

“If you don’t get inside me after all this prep I may have to kill you Wade, I’m not even kidding. I’m not throwing away my dignity for anything less.” He gritted out, eyes still closed so he wouldn’t see the wolf-like grin spread across Wade’s face. “Get on with it, fly-boy.”

He did look once he felt Wade leave his body once more, dancing little worry-circles on the floor next to him. “Excuse me a moment.” Peter groaned at the loss, cool air driving his sensitive body insane.

“WAAAAHOOOOO!!!”

“Wade, get your big butt back here.” He ordered, rolling his eyes and trying not to smile.

Wade was mounting him in half a second, top Deadpool speed, legs bracketing his body, pinning each hand above his head to stare down fondly at him. Peter didn’t so much as flinch, just stared defiantly back from under his lashes, biting his lip in that way he’d always liked to see girls doing. 

Wade murmured to himself. “It  _is_ Christmas. Yes, he is kind a dork…Not sure if  _needy_  is the word. Yeah, we love him anyways. Good thing he’s so hot.”

He didn’t bother asking who Wade was talking to, just concentrated on surpassing a massive grin and the strong, sudden urge to swat Wade around the head.

Wade leaned down, kissed him back into the mattress. He released one wrist, fumbling for the sachet of lube cast carelessly next to them.

“No.” Commanded Peter, breaking the kiss. “Let me.”

Wordlessly for once, Wade handed him the half-used packet. Watched as Peter propped himself up a little, pouring the substance into his palm before warming it in his grasp, agonisingly slowly. He caught Wade’s eye and grinned cheekily, making his whole features light up in a way that was breathtaking.

“Cheeky git,” He said, swooping down to steal another kiss.

Peter reached out almost shyly, in a way that made Wade’s breath catch. He was precious. He needed to be protected, always from now on, Wade vowed. Didn’t matter how super he was.

He wrapped his slick hand around Wade’s length, tentatively at first. Pressing gently, becoming familiar with it, the shape, the unusual texture, the frankly alarming thickness. He circled his palm obligingly, studying Wade’s reaction. Seeing his pupils expand until there’s only the faintest hint of Wade’s strange gold-blue eyes showing. He takes in the flushed pink skin of Wade’s face, almost pretty, dashed with livid scars. He traces the line of one soothingly with his thumb before following it with his tongue to the point where it crosses over his full lower lip. He sucks gently, capturing Wade’s groans as his hand becomes more confident, gripping a little firmer, twisting in the smooth slickness. He slides his hand up and down, easier now, teasing his thumb pad over the flat head until Wade is groaning, pushing into his grip, panting ragged breaths against his mouth. That’s when he knew Wade was ready.

“Now,’ He demanded, spreading his legs a little wider. Wade stares at him, eyes wide. He licks his lips, leans back. Peter feels a thrill of anticipation go through him -

Only to be shocked when Wade flips him over onto his hands and knees. It nearly knocks the breath out of him.

“W-Wade?” He stutters into the mattress. “You could at least ask! I want to see y -”

“-Like this. Shouldn’t have to look at me. Just like this.” Wade murmurs, kissing Peter’s sweaty nape roughly, moulding his hot body against the length of Peter’s until his head is swimming, until he’s forgetting why he was protesting in the first place. “This is safer.” Wade explains, though it sounds like a half-truth.

Peter nods, letting it go, whatever he wants. He won’t push Wade into something he isn’t comfortable with. Besides, Wade knows best (not a sentence you get to use often) and he’s so excited, so turned on that his muscles are shaking already and he’s not sure how long he can hold this position, let alone waste time arguing the merits of going missionary. But hold it he does and is rewarded when he feels the wet length of Wade glide against his entrance. He has to bite his lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise.

And then Wade is positioning. Spreading his cheeks until the shock of cold air has him shivering with anticipation. He flushes at the image he must make. Legs spread, ass in the air, open for Wade, stretched and waiting, practically  _begging_  for it. He has to regain the upper hand here, even if he’s practically groaning with anticipation.

“Gonna take pictures or are you - argh!”

Yep. That’s a tongue. Wade’s tongue. _Fucking hell!_ Pressing hot, slick and wet against his entrance, pushing in just the slightest bit, but enough to make Peter lose his mind. For all of his experiences, that is definitely a new one.

“Wade no!” He choked out as that alien heat forced its way in and _holy shit_ was that teeth, scraping against a place no teeth should ever be?

“Wade yes!” It was garbled but unmistakable, rumbling against the back of his legs in a disturbingly hot manner.

“Ngh!” The tongue withdrew, thankfully, after one disturbingly hard suck that would have had him wantonly pressing back into Wade if his legs hadn’t given out at that precise moment. Thank goodness. “What. The. Fuck?”

He didn’t have the energy to turn and face Wade, face crimson with horror and the shame of how hard he’d had to fight not to come right there and then. _Stupid body getting off on the most degrading situations!_

Meanwhile, Wade was making noises not unlike a cat hacking up a hairball. _Oh the romance…_

“Ew. Lube.” He said by way of an explanation.

“Just…Why?” Peter murmured faintly into the mattress, still slightly horrified by the knowledge that a tongue in your ass feels fantastic and fighting the urge to ask Wade to do it again.

 _Fuck_ …

“Well I did promise the last time. And your hole just looked so pretty, I wanted-”

“Gahahah! No! That’s enough,” He groaned as his trapped cock pulsed encouragingly at Wade’s words. “You’ve ruined me.”

“Nonsense!” Wade answered cheerfully, voice gorgeously rough. “Not yet anyway.”

And with those words, he merrily scooped up Peter by the hips, canting his ass to the desired angle, before pushing his cock in unceremoniously.

“Fucking hell!” Peter yelped once more, panting roughly, matching the ragged groan that was ripped from Wade. It was just the tip, pressing in, then withdrawing, so slowly. It was maddening. His body shook in Wade’s grasp, the fit so tight, so uncomfortably full. He wriggled, pushed back, wanting to get it over with, needing Wade to move. He felt impaled, trapped and a dark ripple of excitement coursed through him at that thought. Each time Wade pushed back in, he went a little deeper. So gradual, Peter barely noticed the increase. But he was fucking huge. The tip was enough! He was stretched, so full, such a beautiful, satisfying, deep ache.

“Sssh now,” Wade’s voice was shaky, his grip tight. “I got you, remember?” His words were predatory rather than reassuring, tongue hot against his shoulder.

“That isn’t comforting,” Peter gasped out, writhing, squirming, clenching back into Wade’s grasp. “You need to move.” He was surprised by how steady and calm that came out when every part of him was screaming for more.

“Hold yourself up?” It was a question and an irritating one at that. Peter gave him a look that was the silent equivalent of 'bitch, please.' He had super strength after all. Did Wade think he had some kind of superpower draining magic-cock?

When the next thrust pushed him halfway in, Peter had to reassess such sarcasm. His legs nearly gave way as he rocked forward harshly. “Okay, definitely a magic-cock,” He grinned/grimaced: _lucky me; lucky me…_

“What was that?” Wade purred into his ear, breath harsh, ragged. Peter loved the effect his body was having on the mercenary.

“Nothing!” He answered quickly. The last thing Wade needed was his ego inflating even more by the notion of a magic-cock. He laughed deliriously, “Just don’t stop.”

The next push almost lifted him up in the air. It hurt like a bitch. But a good ache, the promise of something better around the corner when Wade finally gets deep enough. But he was being so patient, slowly inching deeper with each thrust, holding back. It was making Peter’s toes curl. Slow, but deep. He was practically drooling, knowing this was going to get really good, real fast, Wade’s unusual texture stimulating his inner channels (no protection, yes very bad but Wade couldn’t get diseases. And Peter wouldn’t get pregnant – it’s not that kind of fic folks!).

“That all you got?” He teased, wanting Wade to let go, to give it to him. To find that delicious spot inside of him again.

“Fuck me…I’m trying to be a good boy here, babe.” His voice was wrecked already. _Excellent_. He sucked on Peter’s nape, making him moan as he pushed back in, even deeper and slicker, so hard it hurt, stretched so tight.

He pitched his voice as low and animalistic as Wade’s. “You _are_ a good boy. So fucking good, so hot… Now come on.” Wade whined at the compliment and Peter grinned. He experimentally clenched around the hardness within him, none too politely, locking him in. He was rewarded with the loudest groan yet.

“Ahh Pete, you’re killing me.” He groaned. “This is like tacos at Disneyland. At Christmas. With free blowjobs from the cast of Golden Girls.”

“I’ll make you forget the fucking Golden Girls… There’s a sentence I’d never thought I’d hear myself say in the bedroom.” Peter said, shaking his head. “Stop holding back.” He reached around, bracing himself with one hand so he could grab that ass, scratch at the skin with his nails, push him forward, hard. “Move!”

So he did. And it fucking hurt. Wade lifted him right off his knees, mattress creaking. He cried out, because it worked, finally! His senses sung out in delirious triumph. He could feel that spark of pleasure, that deep burn simmering through him as Wade bottomed out, balls deep, so close that every inch of them is melded together. They both cry out, primal noises that surprise them both. Wade holds him, inhales the scent of his skin, tastes him, growls. A thrill of pleasurable fear shivers through Peter as his body responds enthusiastically.

Wade’s hands are stroking his sweaty flank, his sides, holding him together, “Shouldn’t treat you like this.” Wade protested, even as he pulled out and pushed back in, slow but very hard, with a snap of his hips. Strong enough to make Peter ponder the use of a safe word anyway, to make his jaw click.

“Oh Wade…” He moaned as pleasure skewered up his spine. He had only just skimmed that wonderful spot inside of Peter. Good things were coming alright…

“Say that again,” Wade growled, nuzzling his neck, biting a little harder than before when Peter didn’t answer, genuinely wondering what Wade was referring to.

“Ah fuck!” He moaned, toes curling at another thrust that was just right. “Wade? Wade. Is that it? You want me to say your name? Wade Wilson... Come on, Wade. I know you have more to give me. My Wade. Idiot Wade. Fucking gorgeous Wade.” He let his mouth run away with him, groaning, loving how liberating it felt. He was usually the silent type in bed, repressed, holding it in. This felt great. He loved the way it made Wade gasp against his neck, lips hot and heavy, the way his hips snapped a bit harder in response. It ached, but now he could focus on the pleasure.

“Your fucking mouth! Can I make that my ringtone?!” Wade laughed breathlessly, much to Peter’s relief. That was better. That was less intimidating than the snarling biter of before.

“Now you know how I feel every bloody day,” he teased, choking it out. He pushed back into Wade’s grasp, meeting him half way, causing the merc to make a strangled sound.

“Oh yeah, just like that,” He encouraged darkly, really pushing in hard now, but still slow and steady enough to make Peter’s mouth drop open and his eyes roll up. Enough to leave him practically drooling, pushing back desperately, seeking more. It was getting increasingly hard to breathe, every time Wade hit that bundle of nerves, it made him want to scream.

Wade mouthed at his shoulder, his other hand trailing over Peter’s stomach, down lower, wrapping round Peter’s leaking cock. He wouldn’t last long. Wade’s magic hand, rough and scarred, began pulling him into pieces, yes, still frustratingly slow. He let out a long groan that sounded more like a whine, dissolving into breathless laughter at the end.

“You’re killing me!”

“I’m killing _you_? Do have any idea how tight you are? How fucking perfect, can't believe I'm inside you - finally! - so tight and guh…” Wade gasped, unable to finish his sentence as Peter’s muscles clenched around him helplessly, already close to coming.

Peter chased both sensations, the unrelenting hand and Wade’s cock, now pounding, though still holding back. He was angling in hips in a way that had Peter near-screaming, a targeted assault on his prostate and isn’t that typical? Only Wade Wilson could turn sex into a battle. If that were true than Peter was losing…

No. He pulled forward, pressing into Wade’s grip but causing Wade’s hard cock to slip out of him.

“Wh-what?” Too befuddled with lust, Peter rolled them over easily, straddling the merc before he even knew what hit him. How hard could it be, Peter wondered? His ass clenched, his cock pulsed, both missing different parts of Wade. He gripped his own cock tight, not wanting to finish like this.

Wade struggled to sit up, clearly intending to flip them so Peter pressed down on his chest with his free hand, restraining him. He had all that beautiful marred skin beneath him, flushed and muscular, spread out before him like a banquet. He traced the skin with his hands, dipped down to kiss and bite at his chest.

“Well I’m all for a little BDSM but this…” Peter cut him off with a deep kiss.

He pulled back. “Fuck off, I want to _see_ you.” He murmured, spreading his own cheeks with one hand and positioning Wade with the other.

“You’re mad you are,” Wade groaned, realising what he was about to do. And with that, Peter knew he’d given in. It seemed that Wade would give him anything he wanted, if he pushed hard enough. It wad terrifying. It was exhilarating. “Thought I was the one with the potty mouth?”

Instead of answering, Peter sank back down on that cock, grimacing and moaning with pain and pleasure. Wade watched him, eyebrows raised though breathing very heavily. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “Jesus Pete!”

It was harder to find the right rhythm like this. He tried, rising up and down, a twist of his hips, throwing his head back, body taut and determined. Wade merely watched, looking turned on and infuriatingly enough, amused.

“Enjoying that are you?” He grinned, leaning up to drag his teeth along the damp skin of Peter’s neck, burying his cock so deep with a flick of his hips that Peter was left squirming in his lap, panting.

“Give me a sec, need to adjust…” He murmured defensively, though his ass, hips and ribs were hurting. Now his thighs were joining the queue of complaining body parts.

“It’s your first time baby boy, no one expects you to ride cock like a jockey. Like a cock jockey. Hey! A cock-ey!” Wade’s voice was sounding way too steady, teasing almost, so he pushed him back down, clenched hard, pulling him back into his body, and was satisfied to see Wade’s mouth fall slack. He glared down at him, arms folded sulkily, making Wade laugh, though he sounded a little desperate.

“Fucking idiot,” The merc smiled fondly, circling his hips smoothly in a way that absolutely did not make Peter go cross-eyed.

“Here, allow me…” He began until Peter shoved him back down again.

“Nuh uh!” He growled, “I don’t care about all this low self-esteem bullshit you keep pulling on me. I want to see your face. I want to look you in the eye when I make you come so deal with it. Also: you’re hot. Deal with that one while you’re at it too, asshole.”

And with that he placed his arms either side of the wall and rocked firmly up and down. By the absolutely slack-jawed look on Wade’s face, he could tell it was working and felt completely smug for about two satisfying seconds.

“Actually –” Wade moaned, biting his lip, making Peter feel victorious. “I was just going to help make you more comfortable. But thanks for the pep talk coach! You hear that guys? We’re sexy!” And he was off once more, talking to the voices in his head. So Peter rode him harder, clenching with every rise, ignoring the various aches of his body.

Wade shut up and focused on Peter, as he should, eyes drinking him in. “Like this,” He gasped out, tipping Peter forward with his strong legs. His huge hands held his waist then, skin slipping through his fingers, pushing into him. The new angle left Peter completely breathless, the pace, the hard length buried deep inside him.

“Yeah, like that,” Wade murmured encouragement and Peter had to frantically nod his agreement, closing his eyes when Wade used those incredible legs to push up, to meet him, lift him practically into the wall. Then he pulled Peter back down by the waist again, pressing him down so he was as deep as he could ever get inside of him and still grinding up into that pleasure point.

At this point, Peter was shaking apart, rhythm frantic, the stimulation too much. He rode Wade hard, finally finding something that shut up that clever, infuriating, beautiful mouth. He leaned down, kissed him, more like mouthed at him harshly, moaning into him, catching his answering groans. He palmed his face, held him close.

Then Wade was snapping his hips up frantically, practically hurling Peter into the air. He held on, slammed back down twice as hard, super strength emerging. Wade’s grip was brushing. It was a new kind of fight, bodies responding automatically, beautifully.

They writhed against each other, Wade impossibly hard, snarling like an animal. Peter’s beautiful body, all taut like a live wire, riding him like the wild thing Wade had always suspected he was beneath the surface of sensible buttoned up clothes. He'd always wanted to tear those layers off. It was a chemical reaction, possibly toxic as Peter had once thought, but neither of them cared right now.

Wade was kissing him everywhere then, rhythm fallen to pieces. Everything wet and messy as he drew near the end. Wade pushed himself up so they could be face to face. He cradled the smaller man in his lap, clutching desperately, dragging his body down as he thrusted up. He ran his hands down his back, traced his finger around the place where they were joined, feeling damp, smooth, stretched skin, causing Peter to full body shudder at the sensation.

“Wade…” He panted, knowing how much the merc liked it.

“Touch yourself Peter…c’mon, do it.” Wade commanded. At least he liked to think so. It was more of a plead.

Even now, Peter managed to dredge up a tiny bit of his trademark snark, much to Wade’s utter delight. He raised his eyebrows, gorgeous face so close to Wade’s. “Getting tired old man?” He grinned before very pointedly reaching down and taking himself in hand. He opened his legs as wide as possible, tightening around Wade’s length, eyes nearly rolling back. Wade swore, clutched at him tighter. “Like this?”

He demonstrated, setting a brutal pace that Wade couldn’t take his eyes off and caused him to groan something that sounded suspiciously like: “Holy shitting bugger-balls.”

Wade’s hot grip slid down to Peter’s aching thighs then, massaging as though he knew how much he was beginning to ache, holding him together. It was this tenderness, combined with several particularly hard thrusts that had Peter reaching his end, rather than the last desperate strokes of his own hand. He let go, crying out at the pleasure that spiralled through him, shuddering. The sight of it, Peter’s hand striping his own cock though orgasm, was a particular favourite fantasy of Wade’s, and finished him off. One last violent thrust, pulling Peter down as he came inside him. The sensation was bizarre; dirty, hot, wet and all very new to Peter.

“I surrender!” Wade murmured as he finished, pretty much summing up the situation and causing Peter to snigger in the process.

He collapsed on top of Wade as he pulled out, ragged breathing and the distant sound of traffic the only noise to break the silence.

Wade’s chest was damp with more than sweat yet Peter couldn’t find the energy to move. It should be gross, he should have been having an ‘oh shit’ moment. But he wasn’t. Wade’s hands were running up and down his back, stroking his sweaty hair, causing him to shiver. The seconds ticked by. Peter could feel Wade’s heart race against his own. His breath ghosted over his damp, cooling body.

Wade broke the silence first. Naturally.

“Do you think I’d look better with hair?!” His voice rumbled under Peter’s face and he grinned into the skin.

“Er, I’d honestly never considered it.” He managed, peering up at him blearily, voice raw from screaming ( _oh there’s the shame!_ ).

Wade’s hands were softly trailing over his ass then, soothingly, drawn like a magnet, to Peter’s chagrin (he didn’t mind really). “Reckon I’d look good with an afro.” He traced the slickness where they were previously joined, sending jolts through Peter’s body, echoes of muscle memory. He slid languidly on top of Wade, lazily rubbing against his body in a boneless manner.

“I was gonna say,” Peter agreed, crawling up his body. He looked at Wade properly, wondering what he was possibly thinking, seeing sparks in those eyes. He looked blissed out, comfortable, but also apprehensive as he stared back. Maybe he was waiting to see if Peter was okay with all this?

He gave him a gentle kiss, lips gently bumping, tongue eagerly tracing. “And a pornstache too.” Peter added to the conversation. “You earned it.”

“Booyah!” Wade shouted, making Peter jump. Especially as he decided to flip them, looming over Peter like a maniacally grinning clown. Peter’s heart raced, not unpleasantly so. Scary clown dudes were his thing now apparently, who knew?

“Isn’t this the part where one of us runs off, usually kicking me in the face?” Wade pondered, voice low and okay, irresistibly sexy.

“My legs aren’t working yet,” Peter quipped. “Plus you’re gonna make me pancakes. Of the non-ass variety.”

“It’s like you’re my wife,” Wade cried out, recoiling with faux horror. Peter smiled, tackled him back down again so they could lie side by side . He idly traced shaped over the rough skin of Wade's hip, relishing the goosebumps it created.

“Not to give into gender roles, but you’re the wife here. You cook. You look great in a dress…”

“You remembered!” Wade beamed, pulling Peter close, snuggling up. This was new.

“You’re really not going to run away now?” Wade asked quietly as though he could hardly believe it, voice rumbling though Peter.

“Course not, you big idiot,” Peter answered fondly, if a little sleepily. Side effect of good sex. If Wade got offended by him taking a power nap, that explanation ought to cheer him right up, Peter smiled. “You ran away from me the last time, if I remember correctly.”

“It was your home.” Wade managed to shrug whilst lying down. “Seemed like the polite thing to do.”

A helpless laugh gusted out of Peter at that one. “This won’t come as a surprise to you but Wade Wilson: as always, you were wrong. Do it again, and I’ll web you to the ceiling. Now shut up and let me sleep.”

“Next to me?” Wade asked, still sounding surprised even as he gathered Peter closer.

“Of course next to you.” He slurred, almost unconscious in the warmth of Wade’s arms. “Captain America is taken.”

“I will tie you to the mattress...” Wade warned as Peter pressed closer, drifting off in the crook of Wade’s neck.

“I was kidding.”

“But I wasn’t. You can’t leave, ever.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Peter sighed, burying his face in the warmth, feeling Wade’s resultant smile against his face, his steady pusle.

“Consider yourself warned, bitch.”

“It’s okay, I don’t have much on.”

 “You’re stuck with me now.”

“I can live with that.”

“You’re doooooooomed…”

“Shut up, Wade Wilson.”

And so he did.

They drifted off in each other’s arms, a rare moment of peace. Muscles pleasantly sore, bodies tingling, and slightly excited and nervous of the unknown path  that was their relationship before them. They were content.

Until the screech of sirens woke them a few minutes later that is. Someone had called the cops. It had sounded like someone was being murdered in the old factory over by the river after all.

_/[Bitch!/]_


End file.
